


in the muddy waters, we're falling

by jujubeansandtea



Series: longing for the days of no surrender [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeansandtea/pseuds/jujubeansandtea
Summary: “I’m worried about you, too.” He’s fighting back a pleased smile. “You know, if you would’ve told me a year ago I would say that, I would have laughed, and laughed, and lau—”“—I get it,” he interjects, deadpan. “You hated me.”She scoffs at him. “Only because you hated me first. What was it you said?” She lowers her voice to mimic him, something she knows he hates. “No way! She’s a child, Nate. She’s going to get us killed… blah, blah, blah.” He scowls and she smiles.





	in the muddy waters, we're falling

She’s sitting on a worn quilt in a cheap motel room, legs folded under her, and Nathan Drake is pacing the room, feet scuffing over the carpet. “There’s still time to back out,” she reminds him.

He snaps his head to her and frowns. “No, no,” he mumbles and then, fimer, “ _no_. We have to do this.”

On the other side of the thin wall, two voices carry. Astrid can’t hear what they’re saying, but it sounds… intense. “We don’t,” she protests, but knows it’s a losing battle. “We can find another way in, or look somewhere else.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, but it is the last. They’re leaving in the morning and she has had to accept that she can’t stop them. _Still_ , she has to give it one more try. She owes it to herself.

“There is nowhere else,” Nathan breathes, coming to rest on the mattress next to her. He flops back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. She shifts slowly, like he’ll bolt if she makes any sudden movements, and lays down next to him, their shoulders brushing. “I’m just—”

_Nervous_.

“—I know,” she interrupts. “You don’t have to say it.”

He exhales, relieved, and she lets herself smile. Just a little.

The connecting door opens, two men strolling in. “Cute,” Rafe Adler snaps, his lip curled up in annoyance when he sees them. She’s not sure why, but he seems endlessly displeased with her presence, as if her existence alone is a person slight.

“Thank you,” she snaps, her grin sharp as she sits back up. He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and stomps out of the room. “I don’t trust him,” she says when he’s gone, and Sam groans. He’s seated at the table across from the bed, an unlit cigarette balanced between his lips.

“Can we just… _not_?”

She lays her palms flat on her thighs, leaning toward him, and sighs. “Alright, fine,” she relents, the tension deflating out of her. He looks surprised as he lights his cigarette, almost disappointed, and she holds back her smile.

Nathan sits up, looking anxious, and announces he’s leaving to make a call. She thinks it’s a cover for a panic attack, but doesn’t call him on it and lets him leave without a word. They sit there in nervous silence, him smoking his cigarette like it’s his last and her picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shorts.

“It’s only a few weeks.”

She presses her lips in a tight smile, meeting his gaze. “We don’t have to do this,” she says, waving her hand between them. 

He leans forward in his chair, pressing the cherry of his cigarette into the bottom of the ash tray on the table until smoke stops circling up around his hand. “No, it’s not— I don’t want to argue,” he clarifies. “I can tell you’re worried,” he clears his throat, “about _Nate_ , and you don’t have to be.”

She knows he’s fishing, trying to lead her into saying what he wants to hear, and she normally wouldn’t, but she’s feeling generous. “I’m worried about you, too.” He’s fighting back a pleased smile. “You know, if you would’ve told me a year ago I would say that, I would have laughed, and laughed, and lau—”

“—I get it,” he interjects, deadpan. “You hated me.”

She scoffs at him. “Only because you hated me first. What was it you said?” She lowers her voice to mimic him, something she knows he hates. “ _No way! She’s a child, Nate. She’s going to get us killed… blah, blah, blah_.” He scowls and she smiles. “And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve saved your ass a time or two.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, waving her off, and she drops her head back in a laugh. The mattress dips next to her, prompting her to open her eyes, and she inhales sharply when she finds him next to her, his thigh touching hers. The rough denim of his jeans feels like torture on her skin. “I’m man enough to admit when I was wrong.”

“Oh?” She meant to sound skeptical, but her voice shakes when he tangles his hand in her red hair, giving it a quick tug. His resulting grin is _triumphant_. He drops his hand and sweeps her hair over her shoulder, the pads of his fingers brushing across the bare skin there. It’s hot enough in Panama to warrant the revealing top, but she finds herself wishing she was wearing a sweater instead.

He’s never looked at her like this before, like he _wants_ her. She wants it to mean something—because it does for her—but she sees it in his eyes. The fear. He’s looking for a distraction and a smarter person would turn him away, but she doesn’t. She sits still, her back straight and her breathing shallow, and she waits for him to make up his mind.

His fingers leave a trail of fire behind them as he drags them down the length of her arm, stopping to turn her hand over, palm up on her thigh. With his index finger, he smoothes a line down each finger and to her wrist, stopping to feel her pulse jump under the pale skin there.

“I’m glad you were too stubborn to take a hint,” he teases in a low voice.

She shakes her head. “Your _hints_ were received loud and clear,” she scoffs, “I chose to ignore them.”

The way he smiles at her is warm and fond. It makes her stomach dip. Over the past year, she’s seen a lot of expressions from him—angry, annoyed, smug, joyous, tired, even sad—but she’s never seen this. He face is gentle, _calm_ and she falls in love with the way his hazel eyes look when there’s no storm inside them.

“I was wrong about you,” he confesses.

She smiles, a little confused about where this is going. “I know,” she answers, meaning to sound smug, but her voice comes out soft. They sit in silence, only the sound of their breathing between them. “Sam,” she says suddenly, capturing his attention. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He laces his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his mouth. He presses his lips to the back of her hand, smiling against her smooth skin. “I always come back,” is all he says, gaze locked on hers. Later, when she’s alone, she’s going to realize he didn’t _promise_ and it will sting, but right now, she’s too distracted to notice.

When he kisses her, he moves in slowly, giving her time to stop him. Having no intention on doing _that_ , she surges forward, her lips meeting his eagerly. He seems surprised, freezing for a second, and she takes great pleasure in being able to catch him off guard. His shock only lasts a couple seconds before he’s leaning into her, dropping her hand in favor of cupping the back of her neck. His kiss is languid and gentle, but it’s not _enough_ , so she presses closer to him, parting her lips.

She can tell he wants to take his time, ease her into it, but she over analyzes _everything_ —and if she thinks too hard about this, she’s going to chicken out. Before either of them has the chance to realize what a horrible idea this is, she climbs in his lap, using his biceps as leverage so she can straddle his thighs. He drags his hands down her sides, resting them on her hips and tugs her closer.

“Should we—” he starts, breaking contact. She shakes her head, dragging him back to her, and he smiles against her lips. His attempts to slow things down, while valiant, seem to have finally come to an end and he kisses her with a newfound heat that makes her stomach clench.

With a confidence she doesn’t actually possess, Astrid pushes him back on the bed, smiling down at him when he looks at her with something akin to admiration. He didn’t think she had it in her and she does so love proving him wrong. She pulls her tank top over her head and lets it drop to the mattress silently—and that’s how she finds herself straddling Sam Drake, bare chested and short of breath.

His gaze starts at her thighs and travels slowly across the spanse of her stomach, up to her breasts. His pupils are dark, eyelids heavy, and he meets her eyes with an unspoken question. Rather than answer, she grabs one of his hands and brings it to her chest, holding it there for a second. He gulps, adam’s apple bobbing, and she feels powerful.

With the pad of his thumb, he brushes over her nipple, smirking when she rocks her hips against him. He grabs one of her thighs with a firm grip, dragging it to the side, opening her up for him. She wants to resist him, deflate his ego a bit, but she’s a useless pool of need already. “Sam,” she whines when he pops the button on her shorts only to remove his hands completely.

Before she can protest further, he sits up and flips them over, depositing her on her back. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs against her lips, meeting her for another kiss. “I’ll make you feel good.”

The low timber of his voice alone is a turn on. She drags her hands through his hair, tugging at it impatiently, and he smooths his hand over her lower abdomen, fingers dipping below the hem of her shorts. Her hips lift of the bed, chasing the friction she _needs_ , and he surprises her by shoving her shorts and panties down her thighs, leaving them just above her knees.

He captures her mouth in another bruising kiss when he finally, _finally_ gives in, swallowing her moan. With his middle finger, he traces her entrance, dipping in up to the first knuckle before drawing back and circling her clit. He’s rough and gentle and she never wants it to stop. When he breaks the kiss again, his lips trail across the line of her jaw and down her neck, biting at her skin in random intervals.

“I’ve thought about this for so long.” He’s practically growling the words into the skin of her collarbone, sliding his finger in all the way. She arches her back, looking for _more_ , and he rewards her with his mouth on her nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just hard enough to feel amazing.

She’s not going to last long, not when he adds another finger, pumping in and out at a brutal pace, his thumb swiping over her clit. Her legs tense, movements restricted by her shorts, prompting him to press harder on the little bud. It’s almost too much, all the sensations, and she digs her nails into his biceps through the fabric of his worn t-shirt. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” she cries, her head dropping back hard against the mattress, “oh, Sam,” she whines, repeating his name twice more as she comes around his fingers.

When she opens her eyes, he has that stupid little smirk on his lips.

“Pants off,” she orders, grabbing a handful of his shirt and yanking it over his head. He obliges with chuckle, standing up to push the denim down his thighs. She removes her shorts, leaving them on the bed with her top, and barks out a laugh when he damn near tackles her onto the mattress.

The laughter dies on her lips when he nudges her thighs open with his knee, lining himself up, and driving into her _hard_. He fucks her like he’s never going to have the chance again and it almost makes her want to cry, but she kisses him instead, choosing to live in the moment. She can worry about the ramifications of this later…

... _when he’s gone_.

She grabs the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand, the other gripping his shoulder to keep her from moving up the mattress. “Please,” she begs, not quite sure what she’s asking for, and he answers by pressing his thumb on her clit, using the leverage from his thrusts to stimulate the over sensitive area.

“I’m going to think about this every second I’m gone, how you feel, how you taste,” he rambles, talking to himself more to her, and her chest constricts. “You feel so good, so fucking good.” He grabs her thigh, opening her up more to him, and the new angle is almost too much.

When she comes again, it’s hard and unexpected. Her walls contract around him and he groans, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before he’s following her over the edge, his gaze punishing as he looks into her eyes. It’s somehow the most intimate moment of her life, but she feels just as confused as she did an hour ago.

They take a minute to catch their breath then separate quietly. When her tank top is back on, he finally looks at her, and she’s surprised by the soft expression she finds. She expected things to be business as usual, knowing Sam and his inability to take _anything_ seriously but something between them has changed.

“I, um— I should check on…” he cups the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Nate’s been gone a long time,” he settles on, which doesn’t really explain it, but she knows what he’s trying to say.

She smiles, dragging her hair over her shoulder, curling a strand around her finger. A nervous habit. He tracks the movement, knowing her tells, and she drops her hand. “He’s probably done freaking out by now,” she agrees. “Better stop him before he does something insane, like cancel this whole thing.” She snorts. “Oh, wait. That would be the _sane_ thing to do. My bad.”

If she acts aggressively normal, maybe he won’t freak out. It’s a long shot but she’s hoping.

After he’s gone with guarantees of coming back, she curls up on the bed with her knees to her chest and lets herself relive every moment until she’s too tired to stay awake. In the middle of the night, hours after he left, she feels the mattress dip and opens her eyes to find him on his side, his face inches from hers.

“Hey,” she whispers.

Sam smiles. “Hey,” he answers, reaching over to drag the back of his hand across her cheek. “Got some drinks with Nate.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she protests, shaking her head a little. “Could’ve brushed your teeth, though, whiskey breath.”

When he laughs, it’s _too loud_ and she claps her hand over his mouth to quiet him down. “I’m sorry,” he says when she pulls it away and she knows it’s for more than his breath.

“It’s okay.”

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

She closes her eyes to keep the tears from welling up and stays silent. It’s only minutes later when his breathing slows and then once she’s sure he’s asleep, she opens her eyes again to study his face. There are laugh lines already forming around his mouth and the stubble on his jaw is getting long, approaching beard territory. She memorizes every detail before she falls asleep again.

* * *

The next morning, she hugs Nathan so tight, he has to pull her off him and then they both laugh to cover the fact that she’s crying and he’s deeply uncomfortable with it. He promises to get word to her if possible, which is just for her peace of mind because they know it won’t happen.

To his credit, even Rafe gives her brief goodbye, passing along where to meet the boat and what to do if they’re not on it. It’s one thing, “ _call this number and tell them to get me_ ” which is ominous and very in character for him. He offers her a smile that doesn’t seem sincere but she returns it anyway. 

When the time comes for her to say goodbye to Sam, she holds out her hand for him to shake to which he laughs at and pulls her into a heated kiss. “Stay out of trouble, Astrid Thomas,” he whispers to her, their foreheads touching. She wants to ask him what _this_ means, but it’s not the time.

_When he gets back_ , she tells herself… except, five weeks later when she meets them at the docks, only two men step off the boat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first work I'm brave enough to post! I do have plans on making this a series/following this with a multi-chapter story, but for now, enjoy. xoxo


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